Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (11 page)

Which were completely naked.

"For God's sake." Why wasn't she wearing a bra? First the robe, now this. If this was her revenge, it was working.

Averting his gaze from the dusky-tipped peaks, he stepped forward and grabbed for the plant. Only because he was trying not to peep, he missed the plant and his hand landed on hers.

She looked up at him. "What are you doing?"

He didn't think she'd appreciate him saying
Trying not to kiss you
, so he said, "I'm helping you."

She glanced at his hand covering hers, and then back at him. "By crushing my hand?"

Her voice was an octave lower than it usually was, and it grabbed him low and hard. His eyes roved where they weren't supposed to go again—just for a brief second before he got a grip—and with a muttered curse he yanked the plant out.

It dangled between them.

"You can let go now," she said.

He jumped back, dusting his hands on his jeans. To cover up his desire, he frowned at her. "These aren't weeds, you know."

"Of course I know." She looked at him askance. "How do
you
know? You're a movie person from Los Angeles."

"I'm not a movie person, I compose movie scores. And what does it matter that I'm from LA?"

She tossed the plant aside. "LA people don't know anything about nature."

"My mom and dad have a bit of land and like to garden. They say nature is the ultimate symphony." He nodded at the pile of discarded plants. "Why are you pulling them out?"

"I want to make a walkway from the front to my studio." She pointed at the structure that was the bone of contention between the two of them. "So when people park in the front they don't trample my flowers to get to the back. I'm going to line it in stone."

"Yourself?"
 

"No, with elves." She made a face at him. "Of course, myself. Why? Are you volunteering to help?"

"No." He shook his head and stepped back. The idea of physical work was actually appealing, but the thought of working alongside Eleanor knowing that her braless breasts were within reach would kill him. Or she'd kill him, when he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"Just make sure you keep it quiet," he said, taking another step back. Not that he cared about the noise—he just needed a distraction so he wouldn't touch her.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll do my best. I wouldn't want you to call the cops."

"Good." He turned and walked back to his house.

As he entered, music blasted from next door. It didn't take more than two notes for him to recognize Falco's "Rock Me, Amadeus".
 

It was so tempting to go back and take her up on that challenge. But he forced himself to go back inside. A cold shower, and then back to work.

*
 
*
 
*
 

Going back to work was futile. Every time he tried to focus on his sheet music, he saw Eleanor in various stages of undress, wrapped only in his melody. By late afternoon, Max gave up. Putting a small notepad and pencil in his pocket, he went for a walk.

His walk turned into a trek to town. He debated going farther, to the dive bar on the outskirt of the town limits.

But then he saw the bench and felt drawn there.

Sitting down, he settled into the spot and closed his eyes to hear Bedford Falls.
 

There was the hum of cars zipping by, an occasional engine revved. In the quiet moments between—which still amazed him after the constant drone of Los Angeles traffic—he tuned in to the passing conversations, both between people and birds settling in the trees around him.

He heard the hint of a song, different from his score. Sitting back, he relaxed into it, letting it come to him, wondering where it was going to lead him.

He should have known that it'd lead directly to Eleanor.

It was exactly like she was: soft yet strong, graceful and lyrical, passionate and steady. He heard her delicate curves in the twists and turns of the music, and his heart sped up as he felt her grace in the notes that flowed to him.

Without opening his eyes, not wanting the music to stop, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the notepad.
 

"What are you doing?" a sullen teenage voice asked.

"Shh." He held up his hand.
 

He felt the opposite end of the bench creak and Lily's curious gaze on him. Ignoring it, he let the end of the song play out in his mind before he opened his eyes and took his pencil out to write down some notes.

"What are you writing?" the girl asked, leaning over to look at his notepad.

"A song." He didn't tell her her mom inspired it—he could imagine the reaction that'd incite.
 

"Like, words?"
 

He shook his head, focused on the notes. "No, just the music. I don't write lyrics."

"Why not? The words are the most important part."

Pausing, he lifted his head to stare at her. "Of course they aren't. The music is what moves a person. The lyrics are just icing."

"You sound like Mom." Lily made a face. "I like the words. A song isn't anything without words."

"Sure it is." He pointed to his notes. "It's emotions and feelings. The music sparks what the words just describe."

The girl shrugged. "Whatever."

"You don't agree with me," he said, intrigued.
 

"No," she replied with another shrug. "Everyone knows that the reason songs stay in people's heads is because of the lyrics. I mean, most music is just ripped off from Beethoven, right? It's the words that make them different."

Raising his brow, he angled toward her. "You really care about language."

She flushed, as if she realized that she'd given away a secret about herself that she hadn't meant to divulge. Huddling into herself, she shifted away. "I just like words."

"Like Debra," he said, making the connection. "It must run in the family."

Something froze in her expression, and she suddenly stood up. "I've got to go. It's been real."

Real illuminating, he thought, watching her run away.

Chapter 15

Eleanor stood in the doorway of the shed, staring at the chaos. The men pretty much abandoned the work; Travis said that if they continued they risked being arrested.

All because she wanted to teach ballet.

Maybe teaching wasn't the right thing after all. If she'd been meant to do it, it would have all come together easily.

She took a deep breath, and then she pulled out her phone to call her sister.
 

Eliza answered on the second ring. "Good timing. Martin just went down for a nap and Xavier isn't home for lunch yet."

"You cook Xavier lunch?" That surprised her, because neither of them had ever been particularly domestic in that way.
 

"Lunch isn't what I serve him."

Eleanor made a gagging noise. "Thanks for the visual, little sister."

Eliza laughed. "You can talk to me while I change into a sexy teddy. How's the remodeling going?"

"It's not."

"Uh-oh. What happened?"

"My next-door neighbor."

"Liam McCullough?"

"His friend, who's staying there for a few weeks while he composes a soundtrack."

"Is his friend attractive?"

She went weak-kneed at the thought of his hands and the intense way he stared at her, like he wanted to sweep her into his arms and never let her go. "His name is Amadeus."

"So he must be hot."

Eleanor made a face. "I'm missing the logic."

"A man with a name like that is either totally hot or totally nerdy. Nerds are hot now, so regardless he must have something going for him. You also have a tone."

"What tone?" she demanded, hand on her hip.
 

"The kind that says you wouldn't mind doing a
pas de deux
with him."

That was too close to her thoughts for comfort. "I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about me, and that if I go without dance for another day, I may die."

"Then dance, Ellie," her sister urged softly. "No one's stopping you. Did you try on your ballet shoes yet?"

She swallowed, turning to look up at her bedroom window. "No."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"That they won't fit," she replied automatically.

"That's not the worst thing. If they don't fit, you just buy new shoes. The worst thing is if you never dance again, in any capacity. Isn't it?" Eliza paused. "I was afraid I wouldn't remember how to paint, just like you and ballet, but after a couple missteps I found my groove again. Isn't it time you found your groove too, Ellie?"

"Okay." She nodded and turned to head back inside. "I'm going to get my groove back."

"Good. Just in time. Xavier's home. Remember that you're brave and talented, Ellie, and you can have whatever you decide you want."

She wanted dance, in any way she could get it. "I love you, Eliza," she said before she hung up and ran up the stairs.

Skidding into her room, she took the ballet slippers and sat on the floor. She flexed them in her hand, feeling more scared than the first time she'd gone on the stage with the Joffrey.
 

Ridiculous. Holding her breath, she stuffed her feet in them.

After all these years, they were still soft. She flexed her toes inside them, getting to know them again.

They welcomed her feet like old friends, without recriminations or grudges, like they'd been waiting for her to return and were simply happy that she had. They felt right, and her feet seemed to sigh in relief.

She called Eliza back, swallowing all the emotions so she could speak. "They remember me."

"Of course they do," her sister said. "They always loved you, and that kind of love doesn't go away."

She nodded, her chest feeling full if tentative. Letting Eliza get back to Xavier, she stood up and tried a few positions.

Her feet and legs felt clumsy, but she realized that she had no music. Dancing without music was like cooking without spices.

Going downstairs, she went into the living room, plugged her phone into the speaker system, and hit play on "The Mermaid's Journal" soundtrack.

The moment the music began it lit something in her soul. She pushed the couch and coffee table to one side of the room, to give herself space, and began her former warm up.

She hadn't done it in years, but the sequence came to her instinctively. She began with her toes and worked her way up methodically, making sure each part of her body was limber before she gave in and moved to the music.
 

Rotating her neck slowly, she breathed deeply, trying to let go of the fear. She hadn't danced in so long. She wasn't going to know what to do.

But she closed her eyes and felt the music. It was almost as if Max was there, encouraging her to let herself go.

Which was utterly insane, given what he'd done.

Don't think about that, she told herself.
Focus on the music
.

She swayed, getting a feel for the ground and the heart of the track. On a fast note, she spun into a pirouette, pausing before launching into a series of her favorite easier movements, mindful that her muscles weren't as flexible as they once were.

Even with the limitations, the tightness in her chest eased and her heart lifted. She whipped around in another pirouette, falling in love with the motion and the music.
 

Someone banged on the front door.

She lost her balance, catching herself before she fell over. Eyes narrowed, she tried to catch her breath, though she recognized that it was from more than the dancing—it was from anticipation of seeing Max.

Because she had a thing or two more to tell him.

Marching to the front door, she yanked it open. "I—
Charles
."

Her ex-husband's smile faded slowly as he looked her over. "What are you wearing?"